Chapter 3

Kaelyn ignored the black card hovering in the space between them. Her gaze was sharp, her voice tight with a tension that had been building for months.

"When does this end, Clemente?"

His hand froze mid-air. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his features. He wasn't used to her pushing back.

He slowly withdrew his hand, tossing the card onto the mahogany dresser. It landed with a sharp, plastic clatter that echoed in the suffocating silence.

He took a step back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. The physical distance was a statement. His tone became cool, corporate. "It's not the right time."

"Not the right time?" The detached, business-like response ignited her anger. She closed the distance he had just created, her voice rising. "When will it be the right time? When you graduate? When your family finally picks out your perfect, pure-blood wife?"

His jaw tightened, a muscle flexing in his cheek. "My family is in the middle of a major asset restructuring. I can't afford any personal scandals right now."

Kaelyn let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Scandals? You mean like the one plastered all over Wincroft's Whisper? The one about you and Hilda Kramer? Your family doesn't seem to mind that one."

At the mention of Hilda's name, his eyes turned to ice. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. "Don't bring her into this," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

That unconscious, instinctual defense of another woman-it was a physical blow. It felt like a fist slamming into her sternum, knocking the air from her lungs.

She sucked in a ragged breath, fighting to keep her composure. Her voice trembled, but she forced the words out. "Why? Is it because she's one of you? Is it because my father is just a professor and not a titan of industry? Am I not good enough to be seen with the great Whitaker name?"

In a flash, he was in front of her, his hands gripping her shoulders. The force of it made her wince. "Don't be ridiculous," he bit out, his face inches from hers. "You have no idea how complicated my situation is."

"No, I don't!" she cried, shoving against his chest to break his hold. She stumbled back, putting a safe distance between them. Tears blurred her vision. "I don't understand any of your secrets, Clemente. And I'm starting to think I don't want to."

They stood there, locked in a standoff, the air thick with unspoken accusations. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up for the first time. He looked frustrated, trapped.

He was about to say something, his mouth opening to form words, when the phone on the dresser began to vibrate again. It was a frantic, insistent buzzing, a sound that felt like a death knell.

His eyes darted to the phone. He tried to hide it, but she saw the panic in his gaze.

The phone rang for ten agonizing seconds. Finally, with a curse under his breath, he snatched it up and answered.

Even from a distance, Kaelyn could catch the suppressed, sharp cries leaking from the earpiece. While the exact words were muffled, the sheer, hysterical despair pierced the quiet air, heavy and inescapable.

Clemente immediately turned his back to her, shielding the phone with his hand as he walked to the far end of the room, by the windows.

Kaelyn stood frozen, watching his broad shoulders tense. The sight of him, so powerful and controlled, now hunched over, placating the person on the other end of the line, made her own defenses crumble.

Then she heard it. A few words, spoken in a low, urgent plea.

"Put the knife down. I'm coming over now."

The blood in Kaelyn's veins turned to ice water.

He hung up. When he turned around, his face was ashen. He didn't even look at her. He just strode toward the closet, grabbing his coat.

She moved to block his path. "Clemente. Give me one good reason."

He roughly pushed past her, shrugging on the jacket. "A friend is in trouble. I have to go."

"What friend?" she pressed, her voice hard. "Is it the 'person who has nothing to do with this'? Is it Hilda?"

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. He looked at her then, and his eyes were filled with an exhaustion so profound it made him a stranger. "Kaelyn," he said, his voice flat. "Don't be unreasonable right now."

Unreasonable.

The word was a razor blade, slicing through the last thread of her dignity. She froze, unable to move, unable to speak.

He took her silence as acquiescence. He opened the door, paused for a fraction of a second. "I'm sorry," he muttered to the empty hallway, and then he was gone.

The heavy door slammed shut, the sound booming through the empty penthouse.

Kaelyn stood alone in the dim entryway, the strength draining out of her body. She slowly walked to the console table and looked at the whiskey glass he'd left behind. The ice had completely melted.

She picked up her bag, leaving the black card on the polished surface where he'd tossed it. Without a backward glance, she walked out of the opulent cage and called the elevator, leaving the lies and the secrets behind.